put on your war paint
by aero-breaking
Summary: a series of drabbles in which we observe Jean testing his fate at the hands of the one and only: miss Sasha Braus. Promps welcomed. jeansasha. (some levimika thrown in there as well sometime in the future.)


**note one: **so these are gonna be a collection of unrelated drabbles. i wanna write more, now that i have a fulltime job and go to school i feel as though i don't write as much as i used to. and i that reflects because i haven't been able to write a solid piece in a verrryyy long time. (i'm working on _femme fatale _and it's going…very slowly. it's frustrating). that being said, i will be welcoming prompts. so if you'd like, please leave me some here or in my tumblr. **aero-breaking** is my username both here and there.

**note two: **this was part of a oneshot that i never got around to finishing..(that happens to me a lot) but i really liked this scene and i guess it's a good stand alone. please review/favorite if you liked it.

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**put on your war** **paint**  
_aero-breaking_

_**PART I: **_**the tragic, unfortunate case of the abs**

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It all starts with Mikasa. Or, if you want to be more specific, it starts with Mikasa's amazing abs. Now, yes, yes, Jean had _the _biggest crush on her in middle school but it had gradually faded into admiration as the years wore on. But that's not really the point. The point is he's not biased. (Not _that_ much, he likes to think.)

Mikasa had flashed her awesome abs when she was doing a backflip—for some odd reason Jean will never know—and it all when to shit from there. Because by the gods were they amazing and he did not fail to remain quiet about it.

"Have you _seen_ those abs?" Jean questions every person he knows and more than half of the people he doesn't know. Of course, this constant exposure of Mikasa's abs make her somewhat famous, because now everyone and their deceased great-great grandmother knows that Mikasa's abs are pretty fucking amazing. And that's when _she _comes into the picture.

The brown haired, golden-eyed girl that Mikasa hung around with…nearly every moment of her school life (and some of her home life as well). Jean had never spoken to her, she was a senior and he hadn't had any classes with her, but from what he gathered, in the few seconds that he was able to evaluate her as she walked from the track field to where he was sitting on the bleachers, was that she looked pretty cute for someone who's eyes burned like the fiery pits of hell. (And holy shit, were her eyes…_unnatural_. They weren't brown, or light-brown even, they were honest-to-god gold. Gold. Like the valued, prestigious metal.)

She climbs the bleachers two steps at a time, until she's standing right at eye level with him. She's wearing track pants (which is why he doesn't see her legs, which will later on become the object of his demise), a t-shirt, and she's dripping with sweat.

"Hey, asshole," She begins, her voice intertwined with menace, "You've ruined my business."

Jean doesn't know what she's talking about, "What are you talking about?"

Two round spots of pink appear on her cheeks and she frowns deeper, "What do you mean 'what am I talking about?'? You know perfectly well what I'm talking about."

Jean really doesn't, "I swear I have no idea what you're talking about."

"The abs." She says, sounding like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"The abs?" He questions.

"_Yes_. The abs. My business. You. Ruined. It." She punctuates every word, as if talking to a two year old child.

This is when Jean get a bit angry, because Mikasa's abs weren't anyones business, "They don't belong to you." He says, turning up his nose in defiance.

"They do too!" The girl exclaims, "_Mikasa's _body belongs to _me_. I have copyrights." She pulls out a sheet of paper from—from somewhere and waves it in his face. "Seeeee," she taunts, "Mikasa signed on it right there." She points to the other girls signature and Jean doesn't even want to know _why _Mikasa had done such a thing. Because right there, right in the dotted line, was Mikasa's name. Jean had seen her write her name before, many times (they were usually partnered in history class) and he knew the girl wasn't lying.

But Jean had pride. Lots and lots of unnecessary pride. "And your point…?"

"My point," She begins, pointing her finger at him, "is that you should either 1.) pay for the damages you've caused and never _ever _mention Mikasa's abs ever again or 2.) prepare to die at Annie's perfectly manicured hands."

"Why is this even a problem?!" He almost shrieks, because the situation was quickly slipping out of his hands. And Annie was not someone he wanted to mess with. He'd seen Eren get thrown from one side of the gymnasium to the other once, he'd been equal parts amazed and scared shitless. (Anyone with reason would be.)

"_Because_ you ignoramus! Mikasa's abs weren't supposed to be seen until June!"

This makes him pause and ask, "What do you mean?"

She pulls out another paper—he still doesn't know from where—and shoves it in his face, "She's going to be featured in a sports magazine in June. A magazine that _I _took pictures for." She looks at him with nothing but contempt on her pretty face.

He looks down at the paper she had handed him. It's a scholarship application and he quickly picks up key words. _Things never seen, secret, picture, something you value, something nobody knows about._ He'll be honest, he's starting to feel a tiny bit bad about it. But that doesn't make the thought running through his head any less pronounce, "Why are Mikasa's abs something you value?"

The girl lets out a high-pitched scream, bordering on squeal, and punches him in the nose. After that Jean's not entirely sure what happened. Everything that happened between getting punched in the face and being flung into the field is a complete blur to him. He ends up in the nursery, and his mind only shows him glimpses and tiny epiphanies of what happened. He doesn't seen the brown haired girl until two days later.

She barges into his classroom, as the teacher is getting ready to dismiss class, and physically drags him out of his chair, "Lets go Krischtein," she says, "You own me money."

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**note three: **as always, some feedback would be nice. thank you for reading!


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